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Literature
integument
fistfights rolling
in her mouth
indiscriminate
and knock-out,
slap the bruises purple
lavender and nightshade
tucked beneath the pillow,
polyester sheath;
grudges bloom
where love sleeps
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Literature
Prompt: Firefighter
a plate tectonic rift,
we rise through the cracks
shedding aftershocks.
we are molten,
boiling exhales
to the horizon
puckered citrus,
kisses orange
and yellow,
wildfires erupting,
wildflowers of autumn
suns, volcanic petals
plucked one by one
until a silence stem
blooms barren.
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Literature
Prompt: Crowded
Ants on my skin
marching grains of sand
to accumulate in my chest
where my heart pumps
like an hourglass
sifting sandstorm
seen through
the glass of my eyes,
the crowd like
colliding particles,
igniting the air
with plasma
the thunderstorm
rolls in
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Literature
prompt: hairline
follicle fields
she sews saffron
into the night
and eclipses
the color of
shooting stars
because somehow
she is the sky
and silver
is no longer
a precious metal
but the grim
twilight, color
of ashen skin
and still lakes
full of stones;
crematorium
full of bones
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Literature
Prompt: Edits
I've been thinking about titles
chapters, novels, holy books
and the names we give ourselves
bold or italics
and are they subject to change?
I would like to think we are editors
but such revisions can occur
premature, and when is the time
to take red marker
and rewrite the momentary
nature of something
and will it believe the intention
justifies the means
when it involves a detonation;
that sometimes a disassembling
is the greatest form of love
that when I take an international flight
and begin folding your corners
and creating "cut here"
signals along the delicate skin
like a plastic surgeon
it is because the space between us
is suddenly filled with stretch marks
but nothing has grown,
so like a gardener I will deadhead,
apathetically dissect the rot
and call myself a scientist -
realize there is no sentimentality
in the code of facts
but the hope of theories
and hypotheses
and I can only tell you
what I know,
which is that the title
bearing our names
has become harder
to read
I've be
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Literature
foreigners
I kissed a boy from
two countries.
We intertwined
like branches - rooted
palm to palm, and swayed
like red maple leaves
in a summer breeze
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Literature
Solus
Sometimes I am empty - the hollow
shell of an egg;
some cavernous alcove of life,
unfertilized.
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Literature
Lustrare
The street lights hung like floating will-o-the-wisps, calling us to make memories: a two lane highway, age broken down into mile markers.
The sleeping town was disrupted by our youth. We were bright colors in monotone scenery. We drove with the windows down. I wasn't wearing any shoes, bare feet on the products of industrial revolution. Bare feet, each sensation a revolution of the pre-conceived, an epiphany of life; I felt reckless with invincibility.
Overnight we acquired a kingdom, the town too subdued to wage war, and the stars were pearled crowns thrown back with our laughter. There was a whole universe in the darkness, life a force of gravity vibrating just under the skin, pulling whole galaxies from itself like a rabbit from a hat. We were gravity bending time into past, present, future: moments captured in the blurring scenery, smearing infinite.
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Literature
The Lumberyard
My family has a Scottish name, and our clan resounds through the hills of foreign lands. Though that was long ago, before my heritage of wandering immigrants came to rest in a land in which they had no forefathers. Those of us that shared roots did not grow clumped together, but rather spread across the landscape like a giant's footsteps as he traversed the forests of North America. We were not Aspens: we did not clone and conquer with a common name, but rather we grew separate and apart in orphaned groups of three or four; like the pinecones of conifers plummeting from the heights of each generation.
The forests are thinning. Blood dilutes over time. The red is barely in my hair and Norwegians sculpted my face. Several countries now sit on my shoulders. What is the weight of heritage? Are they fractions, or can they be amassed together? Is it more than just inheritance?
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Literature
Prompt: Emblem
Stars and stripes
hung like a depiction
of meteorites
the donkeys and the elephants
march perpendicular to one another
   left, right, left, right
taking prisoners of politics
causalities of a blind republic
who cannot think outside of
which foot goes first
common ground
is now a crumbling bridge
that only the few brave;
the rest just scream
across the divide
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Literature
Birnan
Peacock decay
molting in shades of blue;
hand-to-mouth days that strike
the tongue on Styx and Hades,
ignited pyre of the papier-mâché.
We build our horizon in languid tombs -
call it forgiveness, a freckled nostalgia.
A messy rendition of hearts seen
through Picasso’s bias.
Bringing ourselves to form: hanging
from the world, crooked mantle
of Caesar’s crown
But you will trust the wick of us
to burn, just as you trust the sun
to rise.
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Literature
We Spell Numbers Like Trainwrecks
On time,
though shoelaces trip
onto the platform in pools
of chronological disaster;
I sleepwalk
through the stations.
Destinations incremental alarms
marching block-pocked toes across
my skin in fists of three; hit snooze.
Hit snooze again.
Skin of empty calendar folds -
reminder: desperation
is a coward wearing bedsheet capes
in which we dream nostalgia.
When I woke to stretch my legs
my kneecaps were Viking helmets,
and it was time to join the war.
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Literature
Atomic Number 20
Boiling cold, a blizzard
amidst the furnace of skin
mauled red
decalcified skeletons
courage a splinter
stuck in my palm
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Literature
Krasis
we are but remnants
of warmth, imprints
of colors;
time piranhas
to our footpaths,
our blooming forgotten
in the face of a blue moon,
autumnal harvest wreckage,
long-necked and
searching
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Literature
Finding Space
On the bad days
I tell myself:
I was what I was
and I am what I am.
I. Childhood
I cradled
and rocked your
insecurities,
nursing another woman's
newborns with
a flat chest
and child hands.
I was your knight,
stick pony and paper sword;
I defended our palace
of secrets with silence
and you called me a
champion
A puppy at your heels,
and you pulled my hair
for lack of leash,
and struck my face
in reprimand
II. Adolescence
I was a joke.
You laughed
at how "suicide"
came out of my mouth
like a plea for some space
I was too small a space
- then I wasn't -
and you clenched hard
to my scabbed wrists
and asked how I
could embarrass you
like that
Recovery taught me
you came in waves.
You pointed me back
to the tides and said
I had a horrible therapist
III.
Well,
the therapist
was right.
Distance is the only way
that you and I can fit together,
like beaches and oceans,
and where we overlap
like vesica piscis
is where we find our balance;
it's where we can say
"I love you"
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Literature
Prompt: Content
What fills the pages of my soul;
to write novels of a life 1/4 composed,
a symphony with broken strings
I have not forged a path for fear
it is not gold
What would it feel like
to walk through a yellow wood?
Would it make me more content?
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deviantID

SoundlessWhispers
Samantha
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
People will kill you over time and how they’ll kill you is with tiny, harmless phrases like "be realistic.”
- Dylan Moran


Just a thought-stained lunatic.
Welcome to my niche.


INFP l Moon-Height Dreamer l Oceanic Breather l Introverted Hermit l A Somehow Poet of Soliloquies l 21 Year Constellation l Skin of Metaphors and Daydreams
Interests

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:iconshadowdhruv:
shadowdhruv Featured By Owner Jun 13, 2018
beautiful
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:iconarctoa:
arctoa Featured By Owner May 8, 2018  Student Photographer
An impressive collection of works.
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:iconnullibicity:
Nullibicity Featured By Owner Edited Aug 8, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
:heart: www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7hgRm… :heart:
I love you more than the ocean loves the moon. You make my life beautiful. I will never not need you, my beautiful sunlight.
p.s. thanks for being my best friend.
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:iconnullibicity:
Nullibicity Featured By Owner Edited Jul 24, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Swoon~ well if you aren't the hottest lunatic I've ever seen in my life. Pray tell, WHERE have you been?
By you, I mean your poems (obviously I saw you yesterday). Am I needy? Yes. The life of an addict is never dull, or satiated. So take pity on me woman, and scrawl your lunacy onto a paper so I can have a fix, yeah?

You caught me. I just really need a caffeine fix. But dang, look at those words of truth up there. Gotham needs you.
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(1 Reply)
:iconithaswhatitisnt:
ithaswhatitisnt Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
happy birthday!! :tighthug: :heart: :iconrainbowcakeplz: i hope you have a lovely birthday and a very happy new year!! 
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